Shoot Something and Call Me in the Morning
by WhoMuse
Summary: After the "bloody camping trip from hell", all bets as to the state of Ianto's mental health are off. Owen offers his own unique brand of therapy. Characters/Pairings: Owen, Ianto; references to Jack/Ianto. A/N: This is follow-up to "House Call to Purgatory", where Owen visits Ianto post "Cyberwoman", also on this site. It's not necessary to have read that one to understand this.


Dusk was falling and the street lights were starting to come on when Owen pulled up in front of the ramshackle Victorian house where Ianto's flat was located. He climbed out of his car, locked it and then glanced around warily. The neighborhood had once been fashionable, but anyone old enough to remember those days would probably be too senile to do so, Owen figured.

He reluctantly left his service weapon under the passenger seat. Ianto had taken such umbrage to it on his first visit that he had gotten in the habit of not bringing it to put the younger man at ease. Normally, Owen didn't give a flying fuck whether other people were at ease with him or not, but Ianto had been depressed and fixated on the idea that he was going to be executed, so leaving the gun in the car had seemed prudent at the time.

Ianto had come a long way since then, which was a testament to Owen's keen diagnostic and treatment skills. But then they had gone on that bloody camping trip from hell, where cannibals (!) had abducted Ianto and had nearly made fricassee of him, so now all bets as to the state of his mental health were off. Owen would just have to hope the muggers were elsewhere tonight.

Armed only with his medical kit, he marched to the front door and rang the bell for the top floor. There was no reply. Owen pressed the bell again, then leaned on it for a good long minute. Still nothing. He then tried the bell to the landlady's flat, with the same lack of results.

Owen wasn't much surprised. The landlady turned in early and was deaf as a post besides, and Ianto had a habit of ignoring his bell when he didn't feel like dealing with people.

Well, Owen wasn't going to give up that easily.

He went around the back, where a rickety wooden staircase meandered up the side of the house. Originally meant as a servants' entrance, it was as tumbledown as the rest of the house. There was no railing, and several of the wooden steps were missing, but Owen had used it once before and lived, so what the hell. He gingerly climbed the stairs and then banged on the door at the top, which lead into Ianto's kitchen.

Again, there was no reply.

Owen, however, had come prepared. He'd taken the liberty of lifting Ianto's spare key once and had never bothered to return it, figuring it might come in handy. And it had, on more than one occasion. Strangely, Ianto never asked where he got it. Maybe he had figured it out. Or maybe he just didn't care.

Owen applied the key to the lock, slipped into the kitchen, and glanced around. In the dim light he could make out dishes stacked in the sink and an overflowing bin beneath.

"Ianto?" he called, pushing the door closed behind him. Darkness descended, but from deeper within the flat the flickering light of a television beckoned.

"Hello?" Owen crept forward, feeling around for obstacles with his feet. It'd be just his luck to trip over one of the annoying little ottomans that had come with the place and break his fucking neck. "Ianto? It's Owen."

There was no reply. Owen's questing toes found a stack of books and they toppled over with a muffled thump.

"Dammit!" he muttered. "Place is a fucking pigsty." This did not bode well for the state of his patient's mental health. Nor for the state of his toes, which now really smarted.

He was less than meter away from Ianto before he saw him.

"What the fuck!" Owen exclaimed, startled at finding a person in a room he'd just about concluded was empty.

Ianto lay sprawled on the sofa, his head propped on a cushion on one end and his feet hanging over the edge at the other, gazing at the telly.

"Ianto! Didn't you hear me calling you? Or ringing the bloody bell, for that matter?"

Ianto made a small movement that might have been a shrug.

"This is starting to be a bad habit, mate," Owen said, trying to keep his temper.

Ianto turned his head to the side and regarded Owen. He did not seem surprised to see him. Owen thought Ianto looked so lethargic he could be a Weevil standing there and Ianto still would be unsurprised to see him.

"What is," Ianto inquired.

"Not answering your bell! Or me! What are you, deaf?"

"My apologizes. I would have sent the butler down with my regrets, but it's his night off," Ianto said, turning his gaze back to the screen.

"Very funny. Now cut the crap. I'm here on business. Which you would know if you'd answered your mobile earlier. You didn't even check the voice-mail, did you?"

Ianto languidly turned his head back and looked Owen up and down, his gaze coming to rest on Owen's medical kit.

"Couldn't find it. Is this another house call? Don't trouble yourself. I'm fine."

"I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much."

"I said 'no', Owen."

Owen set down his kit, folded his arms, and glared.

"And I say, yes."

Ianto propped himself up on his elbows.

"You can't just come barging in here whenever you like. I'm not on suspension anymore."

"Actually, I can. Your rights ended when you joined Torchwood and you know it."

"Go away. I said, I'm fine."

Owen snorted. "I doubt that."

"Really. How do you figure?"

"Because you got the crap beat out of you but refused treatment at the scene and then slunk off home the first chance you got. Then you called in sick the last two days. For you, that's practically putting up a fucking billboard announcing that something is wrong."

"I didn't think anyone would notice."

Owen felt a twinge of guilt at that. He hadn't noticed, not at first. Which was perfectly understandable, he told himself. He'd been very busy, what with the massive clean-up at the scene they'd had to do, and helping Gwen with her... injury.

However, the best defense was always a good offense. "If by anyone, you mean Jack, you're right, he didn't notice a thing."

Ianto flinched, and then winced. Owen wondered if it was all from physical pain or if he'd hit some other kind of nerve with his comment.

"I thought I should stay out of the way."

"If that's really true, it's another big red flag, Mr. I-Live-To-Serve," Owen pointed out. "Jack does keep talking up what a big fucking hero you are though," he conceded.

"Really. Those were his exact words, were they?"

"Something to that effect. But he said he's putting it in the report and everything. How you sacrificed yourself so Tosh could get away."

"And how it was all for nothing? And we all had to be rescued by him anyway? I suppose that's going into the report too."

"That's not the bloody point, is it?" Christ! Owen had forgotten just how annoying Ianto could be when he was feeling sorry for himself.

"Of course, that report won't actually get written until you come back and he can dictate it to you. So what say we get this over with, and get you fixed up so you _can _come back?" Owen hefted his medical kit.

"No. I said I'm fine."

"Cut the crap, Ianto. If you were fine, you'd have come into work. You never miss work."

"I'm just run-down, Owen. Being nearly turned into slow-bled veal will do that do you."

Owen hid his own wince. They'd had an unbelievably close call, all of them, but Ianto had been first in line for the slaughter. Owen could still hear that cleaver-wielding maniac's laughter every time he closed his eyes, which is probably why he hadn't closed them all that often since they'd returned to civilization.

"Not sleeping again? Well, I'll tell you a secret, mate-I'm not either. That's par for the course after what we've been through. What's not normal is that cut on your throat. It looks infected, even from over here."

As Ianto's hand went up to touch the ugly red mark on his neck, Owen closed the distance between them.

"You've also got one hell of a shiner and some of the most colorful bruises I've ever seen."

Owen brushed his fingers over one swollen cheekbone and continued in a gentler tone, "And from the way you're holding your side, I'm guessing those bastards didn't stop with your face. So come on, off with those clothes and let Doctor Owen have a peek."

Ianto flinched again when Owen's finger touched his cheek, but made no move to get up from his supine position, only folded both arms stubbornly across his chest.

"If you were so worried about me, why did it take you two days to get here? I could have died in my sleep from concussion for all you cared."

Correction: Ianto wasn't "annoying" when he was feeling sorry for himself. He was the "world's biggest pain-in-the-arse."

Owen erupted. "The fuck, Ianto! How about because I assumed that you had a lick of sense in that head of yours! Because I assumed you did what any reasonable person would do, which is let yourself be treated by the paramedics! Why the hell didn't you?"

Another shrug. Owen could feel his blood starting to boil.

"We've been bit busy, you know? Cleaning up? You of all people know what a cluster-fuck a scene like that causes. We kind of had our hands full squaring everything with the local police and then Retconning the innocent so they'd forget we'd been there. Once I had a chance to go looking for your medical charts and realized there was none to be had, I came as soon as I could."

That wasn't entirely true. He'd also busy dealing with his and Gwen's reactions to the trauma by, well, spending a good deal of time with her in his bed. Which he was perfectly entitled to do. He was a victim as well, after all.

"Besides, you called in twice a day. I knew you weren't dead. You're one of the most hard-headed bastards I know."

"That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Owen let out an exasperated sigh and tried to calm down. Bickering with Ianto, as entertaining as it was, wasn't what he'd come here for.

"Listen, mate. I'm here now, that's what matters, and I'm not leaving you alone again until I get a proper look-see. We can either do this here, or down at the Hub. Your choice. Either lose those clothes, now, or I'll drag you down to the Hub, strap you down, and cut them off you."

"Try it and see what happens."

Owen rolled his eyes.

'What, you want to get beat up some more? Or are you even weirder than I thought? You couldn't take me on your best day, and by the look of things, this is far from your best day. So how about we skip the fisticuffs and just get this over with, yeah?" Owen reached out and gave the sleeve of Ianto's hoodie a tug.

"Stop it, Owen," Ianto said, voice dropping dangerously low. "I'm not in the mood."

Owen shoved his face right next to Ianto's.

"You're a stubborn fuck, I'll give you that. So, fair warning, if I'm dragging you back to the Hub, I won't be doing it alone. I'll get Jack to help me."

Owen pulled his mobile from his pocket and held it up, finger hovering over the speed dial button. Ianto gave Owen a long, appraising look, and then his shoulders slumped a little.

"Fine," he said, reaching for the hem of his hoodie and tugging it up. "If that's what it takes to get you out of my lounge, then fine."

"_Interesting,'_Owen thought. He hadn't expected to that to work.

So, Ianto didn't want Jack involved. Perhaps it was because of his perceived failure in the field (and Ianto was too much of a perfectionist to see what had happened to him as anything _but_a failure) but Owen had a feeling there was more to it than that. He'd be the first to admit he wasn't the most intuitive bloke, but during that disastrous "snogging game" of Gwen's, he'd gotten the strange sense that there was something going on with Ianto and Jack, something that he had been missing.

Owen hadn't much cared, then. Especially when he had been _thisclose_to getting a snog from Gwen himself-and then they'd found the mutilated carcass and everything had gone tits-up.

He might not care whether there was something going on with them even now, except that he more than most knew that Ianto's hold on emotional stability was rather tenuous. He'd personally invested a considerable amount of time shoring the devastated young man up during his suspension (even he wasn't quite sure why) and thought he hadn't done a half-bad job of it. The two still weren't exactly what you'd call friends, but they grown closer in those two weeks than they had in the two months they'd worked together prior.

Owen had seen a lot of himself in Ianto right after the whole Cyber-horor incident (not that he'd ever say so) and he recognized that particular blend of impotent rage and soul-devouring despair that was giving Ianto sleepless nights and listless days. He had tried to treat it with medication, comfort food, and just being available as a sounding board, which was something he hadn't had when he'd been in a similar situation. And it seemed to have worked.

They'd talked about all sorts of things, mostly superficial, but Owen had thought that was all right. The subject of Ianto's feelings for Jack (beyond that as a erratic but brilliant leader they both admired and wanted to strangle) had never come up. For chrisssakes, Ianto had been consumed with grief over the loss of his girlfriend. It had never occurred to Owen there could be someone else in the picture. It had certainly never occurred to him that _Jack_could be in the picture.

In retrospect, however, was it really that surprising? This was Jack Harkness they were speaking of-flirty, handsy, inappropriate-to-all-and-sundry Jack Harkness. Although Owen had never actually caught Jack having an office affair, Owen had had a couple of his own, so he could hardly pretend that it never happened at Torchwood.

The point was, if Ianto was-or had been-having an affair with their boss (who had just happened to have executed his girlfriend), wasn't that something that Owen, as his doctor (and not-quite-friend?) should know about?

Shit. If Ianto was-or had been-having an affair with their boss, Owen _really _didn't want to know about it.

Well, first things first.

The sun had sunk below the buildings across the street and it was nearly as dark inside as out. Owen put down his bag and felt along the walls until he found a switch. He flipped it, then swore under his breath when nothing happened.

"Bulb's burned out," Ianto informed him, emerging from the t-shirt he was pulling over his head.

"I can fucking see that! When were you planning on changing it?"

Ianto shrugged and started fiddling with the drawstring of his track-pants.

Owen huffed and moved around the room, turning on all the little table lamps he could find, thinking how satisfying it would be to grab Ianto and shake all the passive-aggressive right out of him, or maybe slap...

That train of thoughts screeched to a stop when Owen turned and caught sight of Ianto, now clad only in a pair of well-worn boxers and white socks.

Someone, or several someones, had gotten there first. And done a hell of a job of it.

* * *

Ianto sat with his head up and his shoulders back throughout the exam, as if defying Owen to say anything about his condition. Owen, uncharacteristically, kept his comments to himself, though he uttered a long, low whistle when he knelt to examine of the riot of red, blue and purple bruises on Ianto's right side and realized all over again what a close call they'd had. If just one of those ribs had broken and pierced the aorta, those sick fucks wouldn't have needed the cleaver. Ianto would have bled to death right there on their filthy floor.

A side-long glance from Ianto cut Owen off mid-whistle, but then it was Ianto's turn to suck in his breath as Owen gently prodded the area, feeling for fractures.

"All right, then." Owen straightened and nodded at Ianto's clothes, lying neatly folded in a pile beside him. "Despite the fact you look like death warmed over and doubtless feel ten times worse, there's actually good news."

"Do tell," Ianto said. He reached for his shirt and winced, his left arm coming up reflexively to clutch his ribs.

"One, you're concussion-free. Two, your face will frighten small children on the street for weeks to come, but there won't be any permanent damage."

Ianto rolled his eyes and eased his way into his t-shirt. "I already worked out that much on my own," he said, voice muffled by the cloth.

"Hey, you need me, even if you won't admit it. That cut on your throat is infected. Still, it's nothing a little antibiotic ointment won't clear up. Apply it like I tell you to, and there won't even be a scar. I'm starting you on a oral antibiotic as well. God only knows what you were exposed to in that abattoir of theirs."

Owen fairly spat out the last words, then took a deep breath.

"You've also got at least three bruised ribs on the right side. I'd need x-rays to be sure, but I don't think they're broken. It wouldn't matter much if they were, frankly-unless you're having trouble breathing, which would indicate a punctured lung, but you're not-the treatment is the same."

"Which is?" Ianto raised a brow.

"A four-letter word that you hate. _'Rest'_. As in, taking it easy around here for a few days, and light duty around the Hub when you come back. No heavy lifting, strenuous exercise or sudden movements. And fieldwork is definitely off the table for awhile."

Ianto took the news impassively. "You're not going to tape them or anything?"

"Nah. It wouldn't help. Funny thing about bruised ribs is, not only _can_ you sleep on them, you _should,_if you can stand it. It helps them heal properly."

Owen glanced at the area in question, now covered by Ianto's t-shirt. "What the hell did they clobber you with? I've never seen a bruising pattern like that."

"Butt of rifle. I think. I was unconscious at the time. But the shape sort of matches this, doesn't it?" He lifted his chin to bring the battered side of his face into view. "Thoughtful of them, really. I do like things to match."

Owen forced himself to look at Ianto steadily. Inwardly, he was imagining tearing those sick fucks limb from limb with his bare hands, then ripping out their entrails in great, bloody fistfuls. But he was determined to stay professional, for Ianto's sake.

"Yeah, looks like. Good thing you were unconscious."

"Maybe if I was awake I could have fought them off," Ianto said, frowning. "Stopped them. Given Tosh a better chance."

"Don't be an idiot. They had a shotgun. And there were dozens more in the house and just outside. You couldn't have stopped them, Ianto. No one person could have. You'd have just got yourself hurt worse. Or killed outright, and maybe Tosh with you."

Owen spoke firmly to shut that line of thinking down, but Ianto looked unconvinced.

"Look, Ianto-it wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. You know that, right?"

Ianto shrugged. Owen was really beginning to hate that shrug. He thought he'd better change the subject.

"And then there's your knee. It's sprained, so, same prescription as for the ribs. Stay off it as much as possible, etcetera, etcertera."

The thought of someone whaling on Ianto while he lay unconscious on the floor was making him physically sick, but he had to know. Damn his professional curiosity.

"Do you know if they hit that with the rifle too?"

Ianto shook his head.

"That happened when they pushed us into the... abattoir. I landed on it funny but I barely felt it at the time. It was only after I got home that I realized how sore it was."

Owen nodded. "When the adrenaline wore off, you mean. Well, I hope you iced it, at least."

Ianto nodded. "I iced everything I could reach," he said solemnly.

"Glad to see you remembered some of your first aid training, if not the most important part, 'seek professional help'. The first twenty-four hours is the most important, but carry on icing if it helps with the pain. And speaking of pain, I also happen to have access to the finest selection of painkillers on this planet, and several more besides, so you don't have worry on that score."

"No, thank you. I'm well aware of your 'experiments' with alien pharmacology, and I want no part of them. I know that's what turned Jack that alarming shade of puce, even though you both insist on denying it."

"He had the time of his life that afternoon, though," Owen grinned. "But yeah, I ditched that experiment after that. I have a new one, though, that not only takes away your pain but gives you the energy and vigor of a fifteen-year-old."

Owen's smile faded. "Which, on second thought, might not be in your best interests, seeing as how you're supposed to be resting and all."

"Being a fifteen-year-old wasn't in my best interests when I _was _fifteen," Ianto said. "I shudder to think what it would be like now."

"Let me guess, being the teacher's pet and getting everything you wanted get boring after awhile?"

Ianto's mouth twitched into a half-smile. "You can think that if it makes you feel better."

Owen raised an eyebrow, but decided to let it go.

"Spoilsport. Ibuprofen for you, then. It's the best for inflammation. I'll write you a script for the professional strength capsules. Otherwise you'll be taking a fistful at a time."

Ianto nodded.

Owen scribbled something on his prescription pad, placed the top sheet and a little tube of ointment on the rickety old coffee table, and started packing his things away.

"So, I'll tell Jack that basically, you're fine, but you need to rest. Take a couple of more days here, then come back when you're ready. However many days you take, that's what I'm officially prescribing. Sound good?"

"Um-hum."

"One more thing. The day I think you're ready, you're knocking off early and meeting me for weapons training. Assuming we're not going insane with Weevils or flesh-eating alien plants or what have you."

"I'm.. what?"

"You heard me. You and me, in the tunnels, armed to the teeth and out for blood. Well, in this case, cardboard."

Ianto, who so rarely looked, well, _anything_, now looked dumfounded.

"Why?"

"Because if you're going to be a field agent, you need to know how to handle a gun. Oh, I know Jack taught you the basics, but you'll need a lot more practice before you're any good at it. And for some reason, I think you'll get more accomplished with me instructing you than Jack."

It could have been a trick of the dim light, but it looked like the tips of Ianto's ears were turning pink. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He swallowed, then tried again. "How did you know?"

"Oh, Jack tries that with everyone. I think the guns really get him going. It's a wonder any of us can shoot straight. Tosh ended up going out for private lessons somewhere, because, silly her, she thought being distracted might interfere with her ability to learn. Not to mention pose a serious safety hazard."

Ianto's flush had spread to his cheeks, but a smile was playing about his lips.

"He tries that with everyone? I wish I'd known. I never thought it was possible to feel so violated and still be fully clothed."

Owen smiled back. "Yep. Hell of an orientation, isn't it?"

"It was. And in all those extra sessions I requested, not a damn thing changed!"

Owen did a double-take, then they both cracked up.

"Ow, ow!" Ianto clutched his bruised side. "I can't... laugh. Hurts!"

"Laughter's the best medicine, mate. But don't tell anyone I said that. All the other doctors would run me out of town. So, we're on, then?"

"Sure," replied Ianto. "It'd be nice to have some more training. I mean, actual training. The last session we had, Jack didn't even bother to bring the guns."

Owen laughed again, but he felt a twinge of unease. That was so very Jack. But it also seemed irresponsible, if not downright predatory. Ianto had been new and eager to please-more eager than any of them knew, it turned out, for reasons none of them had suspected-not to mention a survivor of the carnage of Canary Wharf. Had Jack, who had made no secret of his attraction to the young Welshman, had taken advantage of that?

"So, what did you so?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Ianto looked at him steadily. "Alone in a sound-proofed room and whole hour where no one would come looking for us? What do you think?"

"Ianto, did he... I mean, you're not required to..."

Owen couldn't quite believe he was having this conversation with another bloke, but that was Torchwood for you; the unthinkable became the norm. He was just about done questioning why he cared about Ianto so much, when most of the time he could cheerfully wring his neck. The two feelings, he was learning, weren't mutually exclusive.

"Owen, I'm not a child. I knew what I was doing. And he didn't force me, if that's what you're thinking. In fact, I think I surprised him when I... followed through." Ianto's smile was wistful, and Owen mentally kicked himself again for missing what had been going on right under his nose.

"So are you still _following through_?"

Ianto took so long to answer that Owen had time to notice that it was fully dark outside now. The light cast by the fussy little lamps almost made the room seem cozy.

"No. We stopped after Lisa tried to-after Lisa."

"I see," Owen said.

God, this was awkward. He was probably the last person the world to be giving relationship advice. But concern for Ianto's mental health won out.

"Well, have you talked to him any?"

He fully expected Ianto laugh in his face or to tell him to bugger off, but neither happened.

'Not about anything important." Ianto said. "I tried to, once, when I came back after suspension, but he gave me the brush-off. Things are so awkward now. If it's not about work, he doesn't want to hear it."

"Things were awkward between all of us when you came back." Owen pointed out. "Maybe he just needs some time."

"Maybe," Ianto said, frowning.

"He really does think you're a big hero, though. They all do."

"'They all'? But not you."

"I might. If I didn't think you were trying to deliberately get yourself killed."

"How do you figure that?"

"Why else would a mild-mannered tea-boy suddenly go all kamikaze on a crazed cannibal, with a snowballs' chance of success, unless he wants to go out in a blaze of glory?"

"So you think I've got, what? Suicidal ideation to go with my depression?"

"Not really my area, but since I'm the closest thing you've got to a shrink, I'll hazard a guess and say, yes. I do."

Ianto shrugged. "Maybe I do. But I'm managing."

"That's what I came here to find out. And I think you are. But if you ever feel like you can't manage, let me know, all right?"

"All right."

"Good. That's settled, then. I should get going."

Ianto stood, but then held up a hand.

"Wait, let me get this straight. You think I've got a death wish, so you offered to give me shooting lessons?"

Owen grinned. "Yep.

"On what planet does that make any sense?"

"On the planet where, if you do decide to off yourself, I want you to be able to make a proper job of it. Botched suicides are so messy to patch up."

Ianto punched him in the shoulder.

"That is definitely my cue to leave. If you're well enough to be assaulting me, you're well enough."

"I'll show you out."

"You sure? It's not too much trouble? I could go out the back way. Or a window. I'm not fussy."

"I've noticed."

As they made their way to the front door, Owen had to take a detour around a faux-oriental urn that was too big for its corner.

"It's like living in a bloody mausoleum around here. No wonder you're depressed. How about getting rid of some of this crap?"

"I can't. It's part of my lease-I'm not to tamper with any of the furniture."

"That old biddy? She'd never notice. How often does she come up here, anyway?"

"Not often, actually."

Ianto glanced around the room. "I suppose I could move the worst of it into storage, and then put it all back when I leave. If she did notice, I could say I did it for safe-keeping."

"Now there's the resourceful Ianto we know and love."

"Care to lend a hand?"

"What, with moving furniture? Nah, I don't like you that much."

Ianto chuckled. "I bet Tosh would volunteer. Gwen too, if she wasn't busy with Rhys. In fact, she'd probably bring Rhys. Doesn't that make you feel ashamed of yourself?"

"Not in the least. Besides, you don't need me. Look how many people you have to help you already!"

Ianto shook his head and unlocked the door.

"Goodnight, Owen. See you soon."

"Not if I see you first."

Whistling, Owen headed back to his car.


End file.
